


Selfless

by GhostsOfTwilight



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angels vs. Demons, Bendy has a tail, Bittersweet, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Boris is a good boy, Chapters 3 and 4 Spoilers, Demon Deals, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, Female Protagonist, Fictional Religion & Theology, Graphic Description, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Henry nearly dies, IT’S AN AU TYPE THING YA’LL, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Ink Magic, Ink Monster Bendy, Intense, Living Cartoons, Medical Procedures, Memory Loss, Mild Language, Mute Boris, My First Work in This Fandom, No Smut, Not Canon Compliant, Occult, PROTECT SAMMY LAWRENCE, Past Relationship(s), Please Don't Hate Me, Prophecies, Reader-Insert, Recovered Memories, Religious Content, Rituals, Sadistic Sammy Lawrence, Sammy and “Alice” hate each other, Sammy doesn’t deserve the fandom, Sorry Not Sorry, Surgery, Survival Horror, “Alice” is horrible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 07:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10962945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostsOfTwilight/pseuds/GhostsOfTwilight
Summary: You should’ve disregarded everything you knew about cartoons.You’re an ex animator who was invited back to the workplace by Joey Drew, and discover pentagrams and unsettling messages scrawled upon the walls.With having nowhere else to go, you make it a personal mission to uncover the mysteries of the studio and its inhabitants. Now all you can do is press onwards, survive the workshop, and fear the machine.And above all, beware the False God.And remember — this is where your dreams come to die.If we lose nowWe lose it allPlease help me out of this messJust how much deeper will we fallInto this endless madness?





	1. Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> Choo choo! All aboard the Bendy and the Ink Machine train! This originally was going to be a Bendy x reader, but I fell in love with Sammy Lawrence - what, I have a thing for insane characters.  
> Make that insane creepy characters.
> 
> Also Sammy’s past significant other is a bit unusual and she happens to be apart of my BATIM OTP which you’ll see much later on. 
> 
> So without further delay, I proudly present Selfless!

* * *

_Dear Y/N,  
It seems like a lifetime since we last worked on cartoons together._

_If you’re back in town, come visit the old workshop._  
_There’s something I need to show you._  
_Your best pal_ ,

_Joey Drew._

* * *

“I can't believe it's been that long.”

The brilliant orb blended with amber and tangerine sunk lower and lower in the sky until it dipped down into the horizon, painting the sky in magnificent hues of fiery red and crimson. The colors faded from maroon to neon pink and majestic purple. Squinting from glare of the setting sun you shielded your eyes before looking back down to examine the letter once more, glancing to lock eyes with the very place where you'd begun your career.

Peeling dilapidated paint revealed the brick walls underneath. Cracks and graffiti could be found everywhere on the building and the large sign overhead reading **JOEY DREW STUDIOS** was stained with rust, dirt and hung dangerously loose on its tethers. Nearly every one of the windows were boarded up and covered with plywood.

Falling apart in some places, holes in the rooftop, windows boarded up haphazardly, some spots had to be reinforced with even more planks of wood... All in all, it looked more like a haunted house than an animation studio.

No one seemed to have ventured near this place in the last ten years, yet, there you stood after quitting.

Standing outside the main entrance of the building, your hair moved softly from a light breeze, bringing some comfort from summer days full of muggy weather.

Even though the parking lot was dried, cracked and dull, it still took you back to the wonderful days spent working as an animator.

Soft spoken and a bit nervous, you grew to love and admire everyone you’d met working with Joey Drew; Henry with his quiet and focused personality, the upbeat Susie Campbell, Norman Polk who’d made you kind of skittish with his position as a projectionist, and Wally Franks, the bumbling janitor who had the tendency to lose things, almost always asking someone, mainly you, for help in searching when your comrades were too busy with their assignments.

Joey himself was a boisterous man, very likeable and took his rising business and its employees seriously. He was one of your good friends at the time and the same person who helped you start.

During that time, weird rumors passed from coworker to coworker about something not being quite right with Joey and the cartoons were never the same, but you paid them no mind. Rumors were rumors. Perhaps, he simply got squelched by the popularity of larger animation studios, like Disney.

So you harbored no suspicion.

* * *

There was still no sign of Joey or anyone else while you walked around the first floor and tried different doors and closets, but most of them were locked. The faint melody of music from just beyond the left side of where you’d entered.

The whirring and creaking of the old projector resounded in the corner of the room and the bright light snapped on during your approach. Only a blank screen showed. Then a countdown commenced, until a zero flashed across your field of vision. An all too recognizable and beloved demon appeared on a black and faded background and danced to a catchy piano tune synchronizing with his bobbing head and tapping foot.

“it’s good to see you after all these years. Time really does fly.”

You smiled and observed the toon. He was adorable, but the media apparently didn't think so. It’d took or seemed to take ages for _The Bendy_ _Show_ to become approved by the MPPC and later when the mischievous demon and his cast of friends made their debut, it sparked controversy.

Many parents threw a hissy fit in obvious protest over such dilemmas as the main character being a demon of all things, the hidden anti religious symbolism, the rituals to summon Bendy himself, the list went on.

Some conservative nutcase even called out Alice Angel on dressing like a whore in one episode where she’d flirted with Bendy. Either they had never seen a single episode of the show beforehand or they were just looking for something to get up in arms about, but Susie Campbell handled the situation calmly by saying that Alice always was drawn wearing a dress and wasn't meant to appear indecent for the younger viewers.

And yet, the poor woman was attacked and harassed, as were the rest of your cohorts for choosing to collaborate with Joey Drew. Perhaps they’d retired to escape the never ending, harsh criticism.

“No one wanted to see a mischievous demon and his misadventures with a wolf and a fallen angel.” you muttered and cringed inwardly at all the backlash at your boss's hard creation that he’d poured his blood, sweat, and tears into. “They’d rather see a mouse and a duck go on happy, innocent adventures.”

It just wasn't fair.

Joey’s ideas had been revolutionary, original. He thought _The Bendy Show_ might be the next best thing to grace the animation industry with its unquestionably unique premise and dark humor.

Disgust and threats to get the company shut down.

* * *

 Ripping your mind in the present, your desk seemed to have been left alone during your absence, but yet, there was still a collection of paper seemingly waiting for you to decorate. A Bendy cutout smiled at you from just behind your desk. "Oh, hey!" you chuckled.

"You following me? Must be pretty lonely here."

You stared at the cutout for a moment before your eyes traveled back to your desk. There was an ink bottle and pen just underneath the tabletop. Grabbing the bottle, you decided to bring it back with you as a keepsake as you stowed it inside your pocket.

You looked over to Bendy, pursed your lips, then moved back to put the tip of the pen to his sheet of paper. It was a very simple drawing, but drawing Bendy was surprisingly almost second nature to you, even after such a long time. The little devil stood triumphant with his gloved hands against his hips. You chuckled, thinking of something to add, but the sound of a falling board broke your attention.

“Hello?” you called out, getting up slowly from your hard wooden chair. You rubbed your lower back as you the room. Your friend still did not appear to be around, but you did find the source of the disruption. A strange black book had fallen from an empty shelf onto the floor.

You didn’t like the looks of it, nor the uncomfortable feeling it gave you from reading _The Illusion of Living_. Ah, yes, that was right. It had been placed on a white pedestal, face down if you recalled correctly, so you hadn't seen the cover. At the time, the whole scenario had been so bizarre, you hardly questioned its presence. A creeping sensation of unease shot up your spine as you continued your quest onwards.

 Something about this area of the building you arrived into felt darker and the smell of paper and ink saturated the air even under the years of caking dust. You had forgotten you still held onto the black book, but made a note to read what you could, as it was tucked under your arm.

Your focus now shifted to a large machine that almost looked like it could have once been conceptualized by a cartoon. A big glass container with a black substance labeled with the word **Ink** , was slapped on it in large clumsy letters. 

On the other side of the container was something like a nozzle, but no hose to fit such an opening. This bizarre machine wasn’t around when you used to work here, but didn’t look like it helped the business much. All of the employees must have suffered in one way or another, but one particular man stuck out in your mind's eye.

Samuel Lawrence, or as he was known around the studio by his nickname, Sammy.

Sammy Lawrence was a very difficult person to get along with, with his low tolerance for bullshit and incompetence earning him few friends in the studio, and no one back then was going to tell the high-strung music director that it was precisely because of his personality that no orchestra would hire him. Of course, his work was better than the usual lot, and he worked harder than anyone else in his department, which was why he was kept on when the Depression hit them with the force of a hurricane.

Contrary to being antisocial and much to your astoundment, Sammy did allow you to help him write songs with him when he couldn't think of anything catchy, and this allowed him to get the job done effectively. A fond memory graced your lips in the form of a warm smile upon recalling the late nights you’d spent together singing what’d you both created.

His voice was smooth and clear, quiet yet powerful. Smooth. It swept you off your feet, and you wished he would never stop.

And yours? At first yours started cracking like you’d never sang a note in your life, and went off key far too much for your liking, but Sammy coached you in the art, praising you for your talent. He was an inspiration. Your inspiration.

_“If I were completely honest, some people's voices sound absolutely horrible and they can't carry a damn tune if their lives depended on it. I wouldn't be able to teach them as easily. But you? For all of our combined effort, you sing so beautifully now, and I did say working together would pay off.”_

You’d began to develop the tiniest amount of feelings for him. Underneath his horribly introverted exterior, was a man who saw further potential in you as a singer than than a person who wasted away drawing at a desk at five in the evening.

However, as time wore on, you contemplated as to exactly why he chose you out of everyone in the business for like Henry, you’d just been a simple animator. Being his reasoning, it might've been because Sammy tolerated you the most because you weren't a nuisance like Wally whom continuously and clumsily misplaced his belongings.

Had he felt the same? Had he -before the place went under - felt remotely anything akin to a crush toward you?

You’d never get the chance to find out, because the business fell apart and your relationships formed along with memories, some good, some bad, seemed to fade into obscurity.

Now that you’d reflected on the matter, you found it peculiar Joey sent for you to come back for a reunion about the good old days, and whatever he had to present to you.

That's what the purpose of this trip was, right?

* * *

There was dried ink all over the place near the machine, as well as splatters on the walls and near the tubing that transported copious amounts of the black liquid into other rooms. It looked like some cartoon horror show.

You followed the tubes down the hall, passing another desk partially tucked in the corner of two connecting hallways. Another Bendy grinned at you from the wall with a large gear near his foot. This time you felt somewhat concerned. You knew Joey loved the Bendy cartoon they had created, but hadn’t they made any other cartoons during operation?

It was odd to see so many images of him placed throughout the studio, it was like they were watching. You made your way to a room full of pedestals and the pump activator. Behind each pedestal was an image of some item you had glanced at wandering the building. One showcasing the black book in your hands reminded you it was still there. You placed it on the pedestal.

Something seemed to moan in the distance. The wooden boards of the building sounded as if they were shifting.

“This is getting a little too weird for me.” you felt a prickle along your arms. It was about now that you realized that despite how unkempt the outside and the inside of the building looked, there wasn’t even a sliver of that intense afternoon sunlight peeking in.

Loose floor boards and crumbling plaster didn’t reveal a hole leading to the outside world, only blackness. You wrung your hands nervously in the air behind yourself as you skirted out of the room, only to be startled by a cutout nearly hitting you in the face.

“WHOA!” you backed up a step. How did this even get here, let alone be able to stand up by itself?

You moved around the cutout, watching it closely as you moved back down the hall from whence you came. Just to make sure, you poked your head back around the door frame to see if it moved. It hadn’t, yet.

Making your way back to the entrance, you felt bad for wanting to leave without seeing Joey, but this place was giving off the impression that something bad was lurking in the workshop.

You paused a moment to turn back to your desk and considered removing any signs that you were there. Upon gazing at your desk, there was something odd about the little ink drawing.

Bendy wasn’t standing triumphantly, but rather, he was looking mischievous with his little gloved hand rubbing the underside of his chin. The devil’s brow was raised at you and looked as though he was waiting for you to take notice of something. You were sure you drew the drawing differently, yet there it stood in this pose instead.

The ink was well absorbed into the paper now. Stuffing the little drawing into your front pocket, you moved to put pen back where you found it under the table.

**“No, not there.”**

You thought you heard a voice and stopped. You stood up with the ink bottle in hand. It was the same one as you imagined in that creepy room. Having been through worse, there was nothing you need be afraid of here in this empty studio.

You half wondered why your feet carried you back through the dimly lit room covered with Bendys, only to come to the hall where the one cutout tried landing a jump-scare on you. Maybe that was only in your mind too, for there was no sign of that cutout now.

Placing the second item on the pedestal, you gazed around the room at the different items labeled on the wall.

Other than the ink bottle and the strange Bible you managed to collect earlier, you had gathered a vinyl record from one of the projector rooms, a Bendy doll from an otherwise barren shelf, and the large cogwheel on the floor which you’d all properly placed on their pedestals.

Forget about looking at the creepy book, you just wanted to hurry up and get this task over with.

The wrench remained hidden. You took another hard look through all the rooms in which he’d found the other items, but still no wrench.

On your way back towards the creepy room, the darkest room down the hall looked even less appealing. As you got closer, you could see mere candles were illuminating the room, but there was also something metallic glinting off the tiny light source.

Upon stepping over the threshold, the hairs on the back of your head rose and you stopped dead in you tracks.

Your mind floundered as it tried to grasp what it was seeing, but your eyes remained frozen on the figure. As you drew closer, the stench of death mixed with the rotting wood and rubber ink into a horrible concoction that would've made you retch even without the sight attached.

And yet the sight attached was worse. As your brain finally processed the image, you grasped the table that looked like a stolen prop from _Frankenstein_ , with pipes plunging down from the ceiling and up from the floor to burrow into the back of the reclined hunk of of metal, filling up the rest of the room with glass and ink.

On the table itself, a body sagged in its leather restraints, doglike head lolling limply on a boneless, too-thin neck. The creature's eyes had been crossed out in a way that could've almost been comical if they hadn't appeared to be cut into the corpse's face, and its tongue dangled out of its gaping mouth.

Further down, overalls built of browned paper had been unbuckled to expose a torso that had been torn open with ruthless precision. The creature's ribs blossomed out of the opening, too pearly and plastic in color and texture for any mortal beast's bones but so perfectly real and playing with the splatters of light that filtered on it in peculiar shapes.

Balloon shaped structures peered out behind them in a gradient of gray lumps, and something akin to ashen colored rubber hoses tumbled out from the torn torso's lower portion haphazardly, hooking and hooping around the hint of hip bones at the bottom corners of the hole; lungs, stomach, and intestines, easily identified but simplified to mockery.

The heart, or whatever would have passed for one, had either been removed at some point or simply never existed. If it hadn't been for the bile crawling up your throat and the pervading stink of decay clawing at your nose, the body could have easily been some cartoon that had tried to mock murder most foul and only succeeded in the 'most foul'.

The word cartoon connected with a name in your head, and all at once you came to the realization you were staring at the mangled corpse of the co-star of _The Bendy Show_ ; Boris the Wolf.

“It’s just a mannequin model, it’s just a mannequin model…” you mumbled nervously to yourself, rolling from the balls of your foot to your heels.

Taking a deep breath, you managed to ease up enough to reach out and grab the wrench lodged in Boris’s open chest cavity. “What a sick joke.”

The worst part of the whole image was the fact it appeared as if the Boris mannequin had become sacrifice for something heinous. On the wall was inscribed **WHO’S LAUGHING NOW?** in blotches of fresh dripping ink.

You backed out of the room fast, keeping an eye out for any funny business that might occur. Slamming down the last item with a clang, you turned to the lever. The sign glowed:  **PRESSURE LOW.**

You knew where to find the button for fixing that, though was perplexed as to why it was hidden out of the way and so far from the main power source. Upon hitting the button with the side of your fist, a pressurized hiss resounded from somewhere in the ceiling and walls around you. They now seemed to throb from the large tubes snaking in and out with pressurized in..

“Turning that thing on might’ve been a terrible idea. Where’s the ink supposed to go? All over the floor?”

You stared at the slow moving cartoon of Bendy dancing haphazardly from the projector.

You could’ve sworn a disembodied chuckle echoed, but chalked it up to your mind playing tricks. Again, back to the main power switch and this time the sign read: **READY.**

Flipping the switch gave way to a whole new sound echoing throughout the building. It was a soft rumbling of cogs and fluid moving quickly, rattling the wooden planks of the floor boards.

“I haven't heard that sound i-”

The rest of your sentence was drowned in a loud _gshshshssssh!_ of ink as the pipe suddenly moved. It was a bit like when the gutters broke, as the pipe suddenly swerved out diagonally, spilling ink in a thick waterfall to the floor. You had to leap back to avoid getting drenched, though some of it splattered over your shoes. But that didn't matter – you stared, transfixed and a little horrified, as finally, one large black lump was pushed from the pipe and fell with a _splut_ to the middle of the puddle.

You waited a moment, seeing nothing of interest or change and then headed out. You turned a corner down the hall towards the exit when you heard something behind you. For a brief second, it looked like one of those Bendy cutouts had just ducked out of sight behind the wall.

That’s when you noticed the Ink Machine room was suddenly boarded up as if it had been that way for years. You furrowed your brow, walking back over to take a peek inside. It sure sounded like that ink you turned on was splattering all over the floor. Peering between the boards, you could briefly see that the floor was becoming flooded with black ink.

To your horror, something disfigured rose forth from the rising pool of black liquid, reeling its oddly shaped head around to face you head on.

An enormous grin, stretched ear to ear on its melting face and black elongated fingers, reached out towards you. It laughed and screamed simultaneously, causing you to stagger backwards and scramble hurriedly as ink pooled under the blockade and slithered after your heels almost playfully.

You felt the walls closing in on every side, the ink quickly saturating the walls and floors, catching up to you so fast you realized you were ankle deep in pure charcoal black ink, sucking in your shoes with a sickening _BLOP_.

**I̷'̵m̴ ̶t̸h̵e̸ ̶d̸a̴n̶c̵i̴n̷g̸ ̶d̵e̴m̸o̷n̴**

**W̴a̵t̶c̴h̶ ̴m̷e̵ ̸t̸w̷i̵r̴l̵ ̴a̴n̸d̶ ̵h̴o̷p̸ ̴a̵n̷d̸ ̷s̵p̸i̵n̸**

**I̷'̷m̴ ̴q̴u̸i̵c̵k̴ ̷t̶o̶ ̷g̷i̵v̴e̴ ̶a̶ ̷s̵m̷i̴l̷e̵**  
**̴B̸u̴t̵ ̴I̶ ̷w̵o̴n̵'̷t̷ ̷f̴o̶r̸g̴e̷t̵ ̵y̴o̷u̵r̷ ̶s̵i̶n̶s̸**

A voice sang out in an old timey tune from somewhere nearby, and a laugh built in your throat, lungs burning. You didn't have a clue why you derived hilarity from a situation where your possible demise was efficiently closing in. Delirium, perhaps?

_I don't recall that song being featured in any of the episodes._

You sped hastily down the hall towards the exit, the gurgling horror not far behind. You grasped for the doorknob. Just an inch or so away and you would be bathed in bright sunlight again and find that this was all some crazy dream, and you’d be ho-

Your hand never made it to grasp the shiny metal of the doorknob; the rotting ink-soaked floorboards cracking underneath your weight. You tumbled down, down, down, becoming drenched head to toe in ink as you plummeted, the blackness of the liquid blocking out the light above as you reached uselessly to latch onto something to keep the shadows from claiming you as their own. 


	2. Depths

The world rushed by in a vast sea of shadows as black as the engulfed first floor and you knew without a doubt the inevitable pain would arrive.

For a full minute you went spiraling downwards through the dark at a speed constricting your throat so that barely a breath could be sucked in to alleviate your stinging lungs.

Your heart thudded in preparation for the harsh impact which occurred in milliseconds. Right as your leg contorted grotesquely and collided with the floor, a reverberative, audible crunch reverberated as the ligaments tore and separated below your kneecap, tendons tearing with a sickening squelch.

Resisting the urge to scream was futile as searing pain burnt around your innards better than boiling water as your wails echoed, unrelenting agony slithering through your baffled system. Everything felt scolded and move or not, intense wave after wave of scorching heat shot throughout your veins and seemed to intensify. You were the exact opposite of fine, poor body aching from falling for God knows how long.

The fractured bone rubbing agonizingly slow on the inside of the pervasively black, viscous stained fabric of your clothing, elicited a small wince from your parched lips. During your mad scramble to evade the wave of ink, you hadn't registered how ruined your jeans or shirt were until you examined them further. From the waist down to your mid thigh, they'd become non wearable even as you furiously wiped blotches from your clothing, hair, and skin.

Just great. The ink didn't look like it’d be coming out anytime soon, though you had more urgent matters to worry about than the clothing on your back.

In the meantime, you used your limited medical knowledge as you tried in vain to recall what kind of fracture your leg had. Nothing came.

You were not a doctor, leave that field of practice for an experienced man like your father. What you wouldn't give for him to guide you through the excruciating misery.

Nonetheless, it wouldn't help to just lay around and wish - you were on your own and had to think for yourself.

A solution came to mind, although it was hardly pleasant. Reluctantly, you gritted your teeth.

Expelling deep breaths, you looked elsewhere, anything to delay the part where you saw your injuries. Frantically, you peered inside the bag you brought with you and were dismayed to see your phone had been completely obliterated vident by the broken screen and the deep crack bisecting your device. Sighing, you discarded the remnants and returned to your injury.

You really didn't want to do this.

Torn and dirty skin, reddened, weeping. After another inhale was taken along with a hacking cough from your raw throat, your hand found purchase on your ankle after a couple minutes of fumbling and moved your fingers. You gripped onto your thigh in preparation to hold your body steady whilst wincing and mentally counting to three.

_One…_

_Two..._

_Three..._

A scream of agony pierced the interior and not a second after, your lunch churned in your stomach and quickly made itself known out into the open. With one ungovernable contraction the congealed contents of your stomach emerged onto the floor.

Chunks of food covered in the creamy chyme from your stomach were propelled into the air and splattered the flooring. You heaved again and once more the wood was sprayed from your turbulent regurgitation. You couldn't move forward without feeling weakened and sweaty, retching until only clear liquid came up, leaving drops on the floor. Your throat felt raw from the stomach acid that was layering your esophagus and your mouth perfused of the repulsive stench and bitter flavor of vomit.

“Holy sh-sh-shit!” you gasped and tore off part of your shirt, blurry vision weakly scanning for a medium sized plank of wood to fashion into a splint. Off to the side, a broken piece of a board laid in the corner of the room and you’d gently had the wood pressed to your leg after ensuring no splinters hid within. Clumsily, you tied the ripped fabric tightly around the traction and shuddered, carefully placing your leg down.

There was no one to fetch you a glass of water or offer to clean up the mess. The stomach-acid stench of vomit filled your nostrils as you surveyed the mess with teary sight and promptly passed out cold, fortunately not falling unconscious in your bile.

* * *

You blinked lethargically, the lingering draughts of sleep escaping as you broke the cold waking world. Your body felt stiff and achy, every fiber of your make up sending dull pain singing up your spine. Sweltering, your eyes opened you as stilled the muscles in your arms as you peered blankly into nothing, mind empty.

Releasing a low hiss, you gingerly touched your waist and hips, relieved that none of your other bones were broken. Sure, your ribs and abdomen felt bruised each time you sucked in oxygen, but they weren't in as bad of a condition as a broken leg.

Too digested with the mire of unfortunate circumstances, you’d paid no mind to check the surrounding area and strained into nothing in particular, the dim glow of light directing your head in viewing the source. A deep onset seed in your stomach sent tremors of dread through you that warned you this wasn't right, not by a long shot.

“Wh-what in the hell..”

Five thick lines formed an inky drawn five pointed star within the circle on the floor along with five candles were lit outside the perimeter, casting their glimmer across the unearthly scene. You stumbled clumsily, thoroughly bewildered, your shaky footsteps almost sending you crashing downwards.

Your parents were raised in a religious Christian household, both of whom wanted you to follow in their faith and of course you grew up going to church and Sunday school. You were reminded of how innocent and simple minded you were back then; thinking that God would always be by your side and help you through rough patches in future endeavors-I mean, you were a good little churchgoer who obeyed God and loved Jesus. Barely a day went by where you wouldn't pray or read your Bible.

Although as you grew older, you’d begun to question everything and wonder what it was really all for in the end, and with your diminishing denomination in God, you abandoned attending the mosque. But that didn’t mean your fascination was completely absent- no, it was reserved for a different branch in the paranormal. Just to research. Not to put your conviction into.

Vividly you'd recalled asking what a pentagram was after doing some reading, recalling how your mother explained in detail how it was a satanic symbol and used to call forth demons or used as protection for some users of magic.

What she'd explained seemed so absurd at the time that you laughed it off; what sort of sane person would participate in that kind of drivel?

However, you weren't so convinced everything you’d encountered thus far was an elaborate, cruel prank some of your old colleagues cooked up merely to scare you. Even if they’d popped out and announced it was, you wouldn't have thought their joke was funny in the slightest. Relying on your suspending your sense of belief from what had been stored in your brain, it felt too factual to play the occurrences off as a hoax.

Delayed panic finally hit you like a train and adrenaline caused you to push upward, worry about your leg thrown into the wind as you scurried to press a hand to the wall to steady your weight as you took a seat into one of pair of chairs to catch your breath, the rest of the interior becoming apparent.

Someone - in all likelihood your former boss - had installed a pipe pumping ink in the right corner and nearby was a poster, depicting a tutu wearing headless Bendy with the words **THE DANCING DEMON** proclaimed vividly underneath. To the left, your gaze landed on three long narrow boxes propped on the wall.

The sight sent goosebumps up and down your arms and a chill running up your spine and to the base of your neck. Just above you the light hummed, interrupted by only the occasional pop. You looked up at it while it cast its faint glows down on your face.

It may have been the fumes from the ink, but you were feeling lightheaded and gave your head a small shake to eradicate the hint of dizziness.

It wasn't everyday did you experience anything horrifying, neither get you stuck in a position where you couldn't exactly find a solution to flee. Locating a way out was nonviable, and having another sudden run in with the insane monstrosity that decided to pursue you wasn't on your to do list.

_I’ve got to keep on moving forward. if I stay in one spot for too long, that thing is going to come for me and I probably won't make it back home alive._

What happened next was a phantasmagoria of horror and mystery as an abrupt muted bump and a clang sent your gaze whipping upwards where you saw murky drips of ink leaking through, the low ceiling held up by wood caked in sawdust and the occasional cobweb. Gasping, you clenched your eyes shut and when you regained your sight again, the substance had vanished. As you listened to detect the noises again, you shivered, not at what your ears would’ve picked up, but what you hadn't.

Had you experienced a auditory hallucination, or was it a figment of your imagination? Or in the worst case scenario, was that monster lurking somewhere in the shadows, waiting for you to trip up? You didn't want to stick around to find out.

There was a strange smell in the room, something that had previously gone unnoticed. Something that almost seemed to belong, and only seemed out of place in that moment. It was the effects of the workshop, you told yourself, fingers shakily flicking beads of salty fluids from your forehead. You hadn't arrived not more than an estimated two hours ago, and already this place was damaging your psyche.

Call it morbid inquisitiveness, but you had to take another look to see what kind of horrors awaited you beyond the lids of those coffins. You gulped past the sudden dryness of your throat. Your first instinct was to open the coffins up to see if you could recognize anyone resting within them but no.If this was a horror flick, that was objectively a stupid idea, and if this was a bad horror flick, then it was objectively an especially stupid idea. All signs pointed to the latter, meaning all you could do was note it for when you escaped and could get a hold of someone.

But those coffins called to to you, begging to be inspected...

Before you were aware what you were doing, you’d taken couple of undecided teps to go check, the feeling of unease replacing by a very real anxiety. As soon as the heel of your shoe moved to carry you inside the pentagram, the foundation of the building shook involuntarily, leaving you hastily careening to the side.

Instantaneously, every alarm in your body went absolutely ballistic, the sirens calls of danger metallic to your nasal passages to the point of acidity. Your hairs stood on end, flesh cold as if permeated with thousands of frosted needles sinking into every nerve point to leave you paralyzed with fear. Your throat worked and tongue rose to speak, but no sound came out, muscles trembling to move even as your feet remained rooted to the spot. Shoulders slackening, you gradually settled into a semi calm state.

Enormously discomfited by the faintest clue of what caused the miniature quake, you focused on your primary directive: get out of this godforsaken room and press onward through the old workplace. Vaguely, you could see the outline of another boarded door, just in the shadows on the other side of the circle.

All in all, it looked plucked out of a Universal horror film set.  
At a glance in a random direction, a stray board captured your eye- at least you presumed it was until you went to inspect what ended up becoming rather useful.

As weak as the ax felt in your hands, you had to give it credit for its sharpness. Each board buckled with one swipe each, allowing you entrance to the short hall in record time. The hall itself was little more than a dark corner leading to a proper door, it too boarded and it too buckling with ease.

Positioning the tool downwards blade first and keeping a steady grip on the handle as a crutch, you treaded carefully past the doorway and your descending steps in the room titled **Utility Shaft 9** proved to be somewhat of a difficult challenge due to your leg.

Upon the hallway’s end, a wall came into view, seemingly to have been transformed into a shrine, dedicated to the dancing demon himself, with the words scrawled in big black inky letters;

**HE WILL SET US FREE.**

Even as the words gave you an immense sensation of trepidation, you walked to up the shrine, the light from a freshly lit candle flickering slightly as you looked in some bowls then took a whiff. Instantly, you recoiled from the tangy and somewhat spicy aroma of bacon and greasy pork blended with the nauseous, musty smell created by mold spreading on top of the soup, acknowledging the two bowls at your feet were not in the best of shape. It was plain to see the canned food was past its prime.

There was also a banjo sitting next to the shrine along with a couple labeled soup cans which you picked up to read.

"Bacon Soup. Just the way the little devil likes it. Eat with fork. I remember Bendy ate this stuff once in only one episode..huh, Joey actually thought this crap would sell like hotcakes....”

Shuddering, you turned away from the small shrine to look at the rest of the room, there was a small nook in the wall with another pentagram and two more coffins.

Another small hallway revealed another pentagram and a Bendy cardboard figure sitting in front of two more ominous looking caskets. Along the wall on the last bit of the room there was another smaller cutout with a couple candles, and a tape recorder propped upright. Moving closer, you could actually make out the name, as if it had been made fairly recently. You pushed your finger down on the button located below the duct tape where Sammy Lawrence’s name was written, and listened.

 _''He appears from the shadows to rain his sweet blessings upon me. The figure of ink that shines in the darkness. I see you, my savior. I pray you hear me._  
_Those old songs, yes, I still sing them. For I know you are coming to save me. And I will be swept into your final loving embrace._  
_But, love requires sacrifice. Can I get an amen?''_

Dumbfounded, you retreated as the recording shut off with a click and a low familiar tone replied smoothly, almost soothingly with a suggestion of a command. His voice was contrastive. Echoing when it shouldn't. These words coiled in the air, and frightfully fervent, like an escapee from Jonestown; less snappish songwriter, and more sycophant shrine-tender.

It sent a piercing chill through your body with one question concurrently as an unrevealed aura loomed somewhere from behind, apace with the faintest eerie touch of fingertips brushing themselves on the backside of your neck.

“I **said** can I get an amen?”

_Who's there?_

That was normally the question a stupid protagonist would ask in some stupid horror movie. Your gut twisted; you had no yearning to know as his voice was unmistakably recognizable, but his mental state had declined. The grip on the axe tightened, your palms sweaty.

Turning around as much as you could without putting too much pressure on your leg, you peered into the space where you could've swore you felt his fingers-no, this wasn't an illusion - he’d been just barely touching your skin, you’d heard his voice.

“S-Sammy?” you whispered into the shadowy void of the hall.

You weren't sure what kind of response you were expecting, if any, and were unsurprisingly met with the groans and occasional creak of the ancient structure. The blackness engulfed your thoughts. Stretching out in front of you like a map, the unknown studied your fears, courage, and knowledge. Taking tentative steps, the infinite exposure of the unsettling atmosphere dawned.

About how fucked up beyond realization this trip had evolved into.

Flexing against the shaking of your limbs instinctively, you were trying to suppress for a few more moments what knew you could not. You needed to drink in the silence to counteract the fear that threatened to engulf your senses. This kind of thick silence would normally chill you, especially on an inky night devoid of even moonlight or stars, but tonight it worked like a salve. You felt it.

It was beckoning you further into the abyss and telling you to get a move on.

* * *

“Ah, fucking hell. Fuck this.”

Wading through the putrid ink flooded hall was unavoidable, but it wasn't like you’d  
would suffer any worse than in your current state. Eventually, you knew they'd have to be tossed in the trash so ink poisoning wouldn't come into play, you thought, exasperated.

On top of holding an axe that weighed more than your body, the maddening distinction of leaking ink wasn't helping your foul mood, and evanescently pondered if that was what made Sammy and Joey go mad.

Swearing fluently under your breath, you finally tugged free from the substance where you collapsed in a messy heap onto the other side with a groan, feeling your clothes stick to your flesh and the insides of your shoes squish with fresh charcoal liquid.

“Great.” you muttered and sloshed over to a shelf of more bacon soup, some of the cans being knocked on their sides and in between them, you spied a switch and a large gate with three buttons on the wall.

_So, it's part of an objective. I need to find where the others are...it can't be too difficult._

Reversing your steps in the thick muck was less than favorable, but you were out of options. So reluctantly you trudged backwards to find the two switches, and was quick to discover the last one hidden among a group of bacon cans.

After entering through the open gate and pushing further into the dark, you didn't just see the bulb flicker, you heard it too.

As you were cast into brief spells of darkness it crackled, or perhaps it more of a buzz. You were not sure. All you know is you didn't want to be here when the light burnt out. The bulb shorted out, then illuminated the newest room revealing a large sign depicting musical notes scattered around the banner which proudly stated **MUSIC DEPARTMENT.** While the name of the studio above was slightly faded, you could make out three drawings of scratched black vinyl records underneath the faded text wrapped inside a charcoal hued rectangular black background.

**MUSIC DIRECTOR SAMMY LAWRENCE.**

A gut busting pang of nostalgia hit you and your mind trailed from the present to the past where you reflected upon the good times you had with Sammy who you vividly recalled wasn't always such an unsympathetic asshole.

He could be in fact thoughtful such as he’d purchased you a small box of chocolates on Valentine's, or when you were feeling down in the dumps after getting chewed out by Joey, did his best to lift your spirits, his tone a quiet murmur of rare concern. 

You longed for those days that’d turned into nothing more than a wilting memory.

“What happened to you?” The sound of your own speech carried you back into the realms of the ghastly situation you entombed yourself in, realizing your remembrance brought you in front of the sign, eyes taking in the features of the board once again.

Dried ink was caked in the lower left corner and on top, but still you held onto those memories, both the good and bad. Speaking of the distasteful substance, your peripherals saw a gooey fresh puddle that you would've landed in if you taken another step.

Quite literally out of nowhere, a blackened, brownish-yellow figure barreled upwards at you at a petrifying speed, a gaping mouth and protruding jaw vibrating with a snarl. its peculiar appearance resembled a monster out of a cheap B rated flick and how this creature possessed vision was beyond you while the indentations in the place of sight were the only indications.

With only the briefest flash of claws, the thing moaned and swiped in your vicinity almost as if to rake the sharpened nails against your face or yank you by your hair. Common sense kicked in as the axe was swung repeatedly by your hands, sharp blade soon wet and stained with sludge, forcing the continuously moaning being to retreat from whence it surfaced into a puddle.

Fighting took minimal effort, you thought, or hardly had time to, when a horde popped up and left crisscrossing trails as they moved rapidly toward you at all angles. It was either fight or flight.

You made your decision; you couldn't spend all day in defense mode when one of your limbs was broken. You wheezed and coughed vociferously as your posture hunched.

Your bones felt creaky and tender, horribly sore from the nasty fall, on the verge of passing out as you stumbled further through the halls, heart thundering in your chest, blood roaring in your ears as you precariously staggered. Your muscles screamed in rebuke from being pushed to such lengths. Wobbling at breakneck pace until you were confident you could no longer hear their guttural noises, you gulped in in short, ragged pants, lungs burning for the precious oxygen as you slowed down at yet another corridor.

Exhaustion set in.

But you solidered onwards.

* * *

The Music Department…it was bigger than you remembered. There were added twists and turns and corridors- ones you didn’t recognize or were aware of before the company’s mysterious disappearance.

_Joey must have done some major renovations to make this place bigger, but why?_

The orchestra room was a welcoming sight as memories of the band rushed back to your mind, and you almost could hear and see the members occupying all of the seats and upbeat songs filling the air orchestrated by several instruments. If you truly listened, you could hear the lovely Susie Campbell sing from inside the window of the recording booth which was in the area opposite of the projector. 

Everybody had their place in Joey Drew Studios, and while you’d been no one more than just a mere animator who’d occasionally worked with Henry, Joey made sure you felt special and included. Sighing and forcing yourself to return to the desolation, you looked left and right.

The bright screen of a projector fell in your vision and a couple of instruments scattered among rows of chairs and small stands with sheet notes. You took a closer look one that barred the words _The Lighter Side of Hell_.

Eyes growing large, you swallowed.

_This was one of Sammy’s first ever works, and I remember it having a melancholy, but beautiful sound. I think he wrote it when right before the company went under…._

Thoughts interrupted, a blob standing in between a duo of Bendy cutouts on balcony above captured your gaze and it altered into a humanoid silhouette once your eyes met. Your grip on your axe tightened and your mouth grew dry. Its appearance contrasted vastly in comparison to the inky monsters that’d attacked you earlier - this one looked much more durable.

Dread owned you, pushing against you like an invisible gale, attempting to reverse your steps back. Dread had your stomach locked up tight, nothing getting in or out. Dread set your face like rigor mortis, your teeth locked tight together.

_I can't move._

* * *

He studied her movements intimately, drinking in every feature from her injured frame like fine red wine. He marvelled how the bangs of your hair laid in perfect strands around your head like an ethereal ring of light while the rest of your locks remained in a state of dissray, muscles rigid and your facade of determination giving way to perfect blend of fear and weariness, your face was a picture of magnificence.

He liked what he saw, and liked what he felt even better.

The heat emitted off your bare flesh, a luxury he was not presented with as of late, and Sammy longed horribly to be close just to grab a taste of the splendid warmth provided by your body heat. This combined beautifully with the lingering scent of saccharine body lotion on his fingers and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want more.

You were superlative.

But you held an aura about you and something was telling him not to strike.

Regardless, the gods needed to be appeased.

So he hunted.

Shadowing wasn't difficult when you couldn't make any measure of progress in your current state and it almost hurt him to see you struggle in your poor condition.

_Poor meek sheep, alone and roaming around in such a dangerous place that's so far from your penn. But do not fret, for I shall not lead you astray. For a shepherd must always be attentive of his flock and bring them back on the right path, and I will do so. I will lead you to salvation.._

He involuntarily spasmed at his thoughts, showing more physical reactions- his hands trembled lightly, fingers twitching forward eagerly, and his breath came out in shaky inaudible pants - it took him a moment before he could regain himself enough to create a verbal response in a hoarse whisper.

“Delicious…”

_Such a little sheep is uncommon, my Lord. Such an offering is worthy of you, and I will not be deterred from my task at hand._

* * *

A clatter of noise brought your head to the side and you nearly jumped, coming face to face with about nine or ten of more of those damn cutouts leering and invading your personal space, grins distorted in the low lighting. You used to find them endearing, but their cartoon silhouettes brought on wave after wave of disquietude. Tearing your gaze away, you spun your gaze back upward to see whoever they were had vanished without giving any indication they’d been watching. Who were they? What were their intentions?

It was only when unease blossomed within your gut and the entire building tremored did you regain newfound strength to push yourself yet again to tread into the abyss. That inky black thing was on the move, and so were you.

You eyed the next door warily and stared at the hue of aged oak trimmed with silver detailing, it waiting for your decision. Then you saw the faded sign above the door displaying who this exact workplace belonged to.

**OFFICE OF SAMMY LAWRENCE - MUSIC DEPARTMENT DIRECTOR**

The door creaked open eerily, the scent of ink and humidity washing over your senses in a churning blend that left you vaguely ill. You frowned as you cautiously stepped through and walked past the lowered pump switch, breath hitching in your throat as you glanced around for any sign of danger.

But your muscles were coiled for a fight, your skin dewed with cold drops of perspiration from the adrenaline running rampant within you – the sensation that never quite eroded. Groaning, your arms were starting to hurt from carrying the axe so you placed it on the floor - you needed to take a breather anyway.

The office was cluttered. Piles of old merchandise, half-melted black candles, and the faint smell of orange and smoke Incense sticks lay scattered about. There was a more recent smell, too. Metallic. You could almost taste the scent, and it made your stomach turn a bit. Nevertheless, you went in, leaving more tracks of ink as you walked toward the desk. It was covered in drawings: concept art, backdrop pieces, and old storyboards, all signed by their respective artists. A small radio sat in the corner, the knobs rusty and the player looked worn with age.

Even though he wasn't present, it seemed an invasion of privacy to snoop through the drawers of the pitifully small desk to search for clues. Nonetheless, you found your hand rooting through a plethora of papers, some crumpled.

There was a shelf inside that if you bumped it just right it would come crashing down and come down it did. Yelling, you jumped to the side, but weren't quick enough to evade the falling furniture as the planks of woods broke across your skin, leaving ugly pinkish red marks in their wake. 

The waves, tortuous and incredible combinations of mingling emotions, all slammed into you, washing over parts of you that were not in actuality physically solid or really there but could still feel the intensity and power of it. The trickle of a sickness that only increased the more you stared.

The largely written phrase **IT’S TIME TO BELIEVE** crept over you like an icy chill, numbing your brain. In this frozen state your mind offered only one thought. An enigma that you were unsure you wanted the answer for.

_Believe in what? Bendy? I don't k-_

**“Oh ye of little faith.”**

A rough hiss vibrated in your ear and your head spun to see no sign of the source of the same voice that’d greeted you on the first floor.

“Faith in what? What is there in this crazy place that I’d ever consider placing my faith in?” you said to the empty air and when you didn't receive a response, you picked up your axe and resumed your adventure. Shuddering with uncontrolled unsettlement.

Cryptic as always.

* * *

Backtracking, you wandered into a doorway you did not notice prior and was relieved to see the stairwell wasn't barricaded by the overpowering mass of ink you’d grown to despise. Naturally you sloped downward and the dark swallowed you whole. Glancing around and grimacing against dim candlelight-- which, while at least more light than the stairs, still was not ideal for viewing your surroundings-- , you noticed a knocked over, busted drawer in the corner of this new room.

Then you happened to glance over.

On the floor next to an overturned desk was a large shape, seemingly unmoving that is until a weak groan came from the now identified man's lowered head. Tight ropes chaffed at his wrists causing crimson to ooze to the surface, before long the rough cream snakes were coated in a dark flaking mass that was added to every time he moved. Hunched over the bondage around his ankles held fast. He spat from his mouth, wincing as the ropes dug further into his flesh. They easily sliced through the soft flesh, like a knife through butter, small rivulets of blood streaming down his dirty arms.

That tousled dark short brown hair...those deep brown eyes...his jaw strong and defined...

"...Henry!" you didn't care about being quiet and approached instantly without hesitating, worried. He lifted his head at the sound of your voice, eyebrows furrowing at first in confusion, then panic set in the ex animator's expression.

"..Do...don't come any closer. You need to g-"

“No. I'm taking you with me! I can't do this anymore!” you hadn't meant to scream, but your nerves were shot and even though your body was beyond the tip of collapsing, you forced your wary hands to try to untie Henry, fingers slipping clumsily on the thick ropes.

“I can't go through this alone.”

“Y/N. Please. Run. Look, I know you...you’ve been through a lot, and so have I. There's a lot of shit going down...supernatural shit that Joey's gotten involved with, but that's not what's important right now. Just..leave me behind while you still can and don't come back.”

A weak cough.

“...Worry about yourself…”

Your palms were sweaty and the adrenaline coursing through your system was shutting down your ability to think logically. You wanted to run or beat the living daylights out of him for being so disagreeable, either would do.

“N-no. I-I’m not leaving, Henry. Screw the studio, and above all screw Joey. I’m taking you with me and we are getting the fuck out of here. Immediately.”

Before you, Henry’s face grew stark white, and suddenly unseen claws ripped the axe from your grasp with inhuman strength and the flat end collided with your head with brute force, almost instantly knocking you out. You groaned sharply as the world around you was swimming in and out of view.

Not escaping unmarred, you developed a rather nasty cut on the side of your head, evident as blood began to trickle from the wound. As the crimson liquid pooled around your hair like a contorted parody of an aureole, you collapsed onto your waist, body progressing in a limped state.

Darkness began to reach over you, ripples creasing over the ink as your eyes caught the tiny disturbances, even as fatigue weighed them to flutter slowly closed. Even while you fought your damndest to keep consciousness.

The last image that arrived within your fading conscious was of a lanky shape emerging from your right peripheral and sweeping its gaze to peer at your form. And the darkness fully enfolded you, dragging you into its shadowy chasms even as the eerily melodic words and humming sank into you, numbing your brain as you tumbled freely into emptiness.

"Rest your head...it's time for bed..."


End file.
